Where No Counsel Is
by CarlieD
Summary: Where no counsel is, the people fall, but in the multitude of counselors there is safety." The already-strained relationship between Ziva and her father threatens to destroy both them and their agencies when he forces her away from NCIS on a suicidal miss
1. Prologue

_"Where no counsel is, the people fall, but in the multitude of counselors there is safety." The already-strained relationship between Ziva and her father threatens to destroy both them and their agencies when he forces her away from NCIS on a suicidal mission. Tiva._

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS. The quote is the Mossad motto.

* * *

**Prologue**

_28-year-old Ziva David could feel her heart pounding as she watched the lifeless body of her older brother. She'd done the one thing – no, the two things – that her father could not, would not forgive. She had lost control of her charge, and she had killed his son. His only son._

_"Go to America, Officer David. Your new assignment is liaison officer with NCIS in Washington."_

* * *

30-year-old Ziva David woke up automatically at 4:30 that morning. She got out of bed with a grumble as it came to her what today was: time to argue with her father again for another year's extension on her visa for NCIS. And he would make it long and difficult and try to make her beg. And just as she had last year, she would bend once more, desperate to stay out of Tel Aviv and away from Mossad.

No run for her today: he would call at 5:00, just before his day at Mossad would end in Tel Aviv, and before her day began at NCIS in Washington.

Sighing, Ziva rubbed at her face tiredly, digging through her drawers and her closets to find something to wear. The phone rang just as she was pulling on a pair of cargos. Growling curses under her breath, she yanked the shirt off its hanger and went to answer. "Shalom, Deputy Director David. Your call is early."

_"Your extraction team will arrive at the pickup location in exactly one hour, Ziva. Do not fight, argue or whine. Leave your cell phone, your ID, and anything that can identify you as a person, Mossad or Jewish there. Take only your weapons. Remember who signs your visa extensions. You complete this mission, I may consider renewing your position at NCIS for another term." _With that, he hung up, leaving Ziva to stare at the receiver in shock.

She hated feeling controlled. But that was how her entire life had been, even after she was far away from Tel Aviv. Her father controlled her life.

Sighing, she returned to her bedroom and silently threw some clothes into a bag, trying her hardest not to make a sound, in order to avoid waking the man who still slept soundly on the other side of the bed.

* * *

They didn't even attempt to pretend that this relationship, if you could even call it that, was anything solid, anything permanent, anything of substance. It was short-lived moments of heated passion, a chance to wake up in the morning with someone they trusted next to them, comfort at the conclusion of difficult cases, frustration release at the ones that got away. The security of being able to feel the other's presence to the very depths of their soul, the soothing words of endearment, the learning of each other.

Would he hurt when he awoke and discovered that she was gone? When he saw the badge and the cell phone lying next to his, and knew that she wouldn't be back? Would his heart break as much as hers did at this moment?

* * *

She knew her father all too well. He had made up his mind: she would not be returning to Washington. Ever. In a way, she knew it was coming: ever since Michael had divulged to her that her father was having her watched, that he had discovered his presence at her apartment. He knew, he knew that she was getting attached to him, to his presence.

Holding back the tears, she knelt on her abandoned side of the bed, leaning to lay a light, lingering kiss against his face. As she laid her badge and her cell phone on the bedside table next to his, she felt him stir slightly, his arm reaching to pull her close, his face turning instinctively to where her head most mornings lay.

Ziva kissed his lips longingly, trying to memorize the taste, the warmth, the softness. "_Chalomot tovim, neshomeleh_," (1) she whispered.

"Mmmm, right back at you," he murmured sleepily, his arm succeeding in wrapping around her waist.

"Go back to sleep," she replied, carefully extracting herself. "It is 5:00." As he began to drift off, she reached around her neck, undoing the clasp of the Magen David which had remained with her since she was 16. She couldn't stop the tear that escaped her eye, splashing down onto the sheets as she placed the necklace in the open palm of his hand. "_Tzar li, Ha'Yakar._" (2)

* * *

It was 8:30 when he woke up, and that only because he heard both cell phones start blaring simultaneously.

"Hello?" he asked blearily, somehow managing to grab the cell phone and bring it to his ear.

_"Tony?"_ came McGee's voice in surprise. _"What are you doing with Ziva's cell?"_

"What?" Tony asked, sitting up as he rubbed at his eyes. He frowned as he registered the necklace in his hand, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he saw his cell on the table, next to his badge and hers. "What time is it?"

_"It's 8:30. Gibbs is furious…"_

"I'll be there in ten, probie," Tony mumbled, swinging his legs out of bed. He hung up the phone and called out, "Ziva? Ziva, _amore_, where are you? We're _very_ late…" Grabbing his change of clothes from his gym bag, he went out into the main area.

When he didn't see her anywhere, and all of her things left behind, he knew what had happened. His secret nightmare had come to pass. Her past before him had come to reclaim her, and she was gone.

* * *

(1) "Sweet dreams, darling."

(2) "I'm sorry, beloved."


	2. The Mission

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Mission**

"Has anybody _found_ Ziva yet?" Gibbs demanded as he slammed down the phone once more.

"No, sir," both Tony and McGee said in unison.

"Stop looking, Agent Gibbs," came Jenny's heavy voice as she descended the stairs from the second floor. "You won't find her." She set down a folder on his desk and looked around at the lonely team of men. "Mossad didn't renew her work visa. Ziva is halfway to Tel Aviv by now. I just got the e-mail," she added warningly when Gibbs opened his mouth to blast her for not telling him earlier.

Tony stared at Jenny, dumbfounded. Gone? As in forever? Subtly, he slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket, where her badge, cell phone and her necklace still weighed heavily against him. Feeling around, he pressed the star into his palm, already missing those nights where that star would dangle tantalizingly above him, the lights in the room reflecting off the tiny diamonds as the dark curls would tumble down around their faces as their lips met, as he lost himself in those dark eyes, as the heat of her body warmed his own and the soft breath would tickle at his ear afterwards, as she lay against him, spent in energy and peaceful in sleep.

* * *

"No," Ziva said firmly, pushing the file back at her father from across the desk. "I will not."

"You will, Ziva," her father replied in an equally firm voice. "Because I am –"

"I will not jeopardize my relations with NCIS for you!" Ziva hissed. "Father or not, I will _not_ be controlled like that!"

" – I am the one person in Mossad who can send you back to NCIS," her father continued calmly. "I am the one person who decides how long you stay there." He pulled out a second folder, which was clearly labelled _Ziva: Visa Extension 2007_. He opened it up, letting her see the contract term. "Five years, Ziva. I am prepared to leave you there for five years." Pausing, he pulled out the third file, also labelled _Ziva: Washington 2006_. "That is a long time to be with your American lover, Ziva, yes?" He set out the pictures that Michael had shown her all those months ago. He took out a third file, labelled _Ziva: Washington 2007_, and pulled out still more pictures, these in… closer detail. Photos in such close proximity that the photographer had to have been at her window, even a few that looked as though they were taken by web cams inside the apartment…

Damn him for holding NCIS and Tony over her head… "But in order for me to return," she said angrily, feeling incredibly violated as she realized just how far her father had gone to keep tabs on her. "I must ignore every moral, every rule of ethic I have learnt."

"Ziva, you are _metsada_, you cannot be burdened with morals and ethics," her father scorned. He closed the photo files and the visa file, holding them above the shredder threateningly. "Perhaps returning you to Washington would not be wise. Better perhaps to keep you in Tel Aviv, where you will not be distracted by such things…"

Damn him. Ziva had never hated her father as much as she did at that moment.

"Yes, I will take your assignment," she spat out bitterly. "On condition that I am not identified in any way, shape or form in the records. When I return to Washington, you will not have your men spying on me. At no point in those five years are you to recall me or withdraw my visa. You _leave me alone_. At the end of those five years, you will not blackmail me into another renewal. If I wish to return to Tel Aviv then, I will. If I wish to remain in America, you will sign the visa extension to be for an undetermined length of time."

"I am glad you see it my way, Ziva," he said with a triumphant smirk. He pushed the file back at her. "You are dismissed. Officer Ariel will be joining you shortly to brief you on your mission."

"I hate you," Ziva said darkly, taking the file angrily and stalking out. Benyamin waited until she was well and truly gone before taking the first set of photos out of the file and shredding them, leaving the newest shots in pristine condition in the filing drawer. Once done, he opened the visa file. He looked at the document for a moment. Then, taking it out, he fed every sheet individually through the shredder.

* * *

Ziva blinked rapidly to keep back the tears of frustration as she read over the dossier.

_Target name: Lance Corporal Ashley James, USMC. _

_Citizenship: American_

_Age and physical description: 32-year-old male, military records indicate 6'3" and 200 lbs. Blonde hair, fair, green eyes. Burn scar from an IED prominent on the right cheek._

_Family situation: Parents William and Anne James reside in Washington State. LC James is married 7 years to Rachel Iacocca-James, 31, and father of two – Ripley, 5, and Camren, 2._

_Location: Baghdad, Iraq._

_Wanted for: Cooperation with terrorist forces in several Middle Eastern countries, including Israel, Jordan, Syria, Gaza, Egypt._

_To take note of: LC James is serving with Corps Unit 5294 and is well-known by American public as a hero. Take care not to make him a martyr for his country or his cause._

_Sanctioned by: Deputy Director Benyamin David, Mossad Tel Aviv._

When had she become a slaughterer of men? It had been easier to ignore that this young man, barely older than herself, was a son, a husband, a father, when he wasn't a man but a terrorist. Not a person but a traitor.

Sighing in resignation, Ziva turned the page over and began to read the second file.

_Target name: Officer Shiloh Sharon, Mossad-Komemuite. _

_Citizenship: Israeli_

_Age and physical description: 45-year-old male, black hair and brown eyes. Missing left hand from wrist to fingertips._

_Family situation: No known family._

_Location: Baghdad, Iraq._

_Wanted for: Sales of top-secret Mossad operations to Al Qaeda, failing or refusing to execute direct orders and missions._

_To take note of: You MUST terminate Officer Sharon at the same time as LC James. Make the scene tell story of a gunfight between Officer Sharon and LC James for credit for alerting Baghdad Al Qaeda cells to USMC/Mossad searches._

_Sanctioned by: Deputy Director Benyamin David, Mossad Tel Aviv._

* * *

"Officer David, I take it?" the man asked as he looked up from his newspaper.

"Officer Sharon," Ziva greeted, sitting down.

"You took this mission knowing that you're destroying the chance of returning to your American agency?" Shiloh asked interestedly.

"I didn't have much of a choice in the matter, Officer Sharon," she replied darkly. She looked up only briefly when the unit leader, Officer Chaim Ariel, entered.

"Shalom, Ziva, it's good to see you again," he greeted.

"I wish I could say the same, Chaim," Ziva returned. "Can we get this over with so I can return to my post?"

"The drop will be at Baghdad International Airport," Chaim said, taking a seat across from Ziva. "The safe house and its documents are located about a mile outside of Baghdad, ten miles from the USMC base. Your motorcycle is parked at the far west end of the airport parking lot. Blend in with the local population." He tossed a bag of clothes at each of them.

"You _must_ be kidding," Shiloh said in disbelief. "I am not dressing as any damn Arab."

"Officer Sharon, do not make me tell you again," Chaim said warningly.

"No. I will not."

Ziva watched the argument in silence as she pulled the robes on over her clothes, carefully winding the veil around her head and face, wrapping the cloak around her shoulders. She could see why her father wanted Shiloh gone – the man was already insufferable. How he had passed the Komemuite selection process was beyond her understanding.

"Chaim," she spoke up calmly, pulling down the section of veil that covered her face, "if Officer Sharon will not cooperate, the mission should be discarded completely. I am not stranding myself alone in an Arab country."

"Officer Sharon, need I remind you of the deputy director's ultimatum if you refuse a direct order once more?" Chaim asked in a low voice.

"No, Officer Ariel," Shiloh replied darkly, yanking the robes over his head.

* * *

"I hate riding these motorcycles in robes," Ziva muttered under her breath as she swung herself up onto the passenger seat.

"I hate being forced to dress and behave as an Arab," Shiloh returned curtly.

"I hate _you_ already," Ziva said tersely.

* * *

"The deputy director believes the Americans have softened you," Shiloh commented, shedding the robes the second they had entered the safe house. "This mission is your test, Officer David."

"Hmm," Ziva said, unwinding her headdress.

"How do you intend to escape identification by the Americans?" Shiloh asked, opening cupboards and drawers to take inventory of what was supplied. "They will realize it was you, and they will never open their agency to you again."

"I have reached a compromise with the deputy director," Ziva replied coolly, heading down the hallway to the bedrooms, leaving her headdress draped around her neck. Correction – bedroom, there was only one. "Oh, good God, I'm sleeping on the sofa," she groaned once she saw the state of the room.

"Let's get this over with, can we?" Shiloh said. "I don't like you. You don't like me. We're stuck here together. You stay out of my way; I'll stay out of yours. We'll rendezvous to kill the target; we get out and go our separate ways. You go back to your precious America if they'll allow you back and I go back to Israel. End of story."

"Sounds good to me," Ziva said tersely.

* * *

"Hey, I have a personnel issue," Gibbs said at Jenny as he dropped into the seat next to her in MTAC. "You know anything about that?"

"Officer Akiva has been sent to replace Officer David as liaison," Jenny replied quietly.

"I don't want any damn Mossad probie who couldn't hack it in the field," Gibbs said tersely. "I want Ziva, and I want her now."

"Well, you're not getting Ziva, Jethro, Mossad needs her in Tel Aviv. Aliza is young. She just needs some training. Deputy Director David thought that Aliza would be better suited to a liaison position."

"Meaning she'd kill _his_ officers in the field in Israel, so he'll pack her off to NCIS so she can kill _ours_ with her incompetence."

"I seem to remember you flipping out about Ziva like this, too, Jethro," Jen reprimanded gently. "I believe you used the phrases 'almost killed my agents' and 'obviously has no law-enforcement or investigative experience.'"

"Yeah, well, at least Ziva knew how to handle a gun and speak English." When Jen looked at him with a frown, he continued, "Yeah, you got a duped a good one, Jen. She doesn't speak English. She's not carrying, gun or knife. I'm not entirely convinced that she's out of high school. She's a pacifier, Jen. We've been whining for two weeks and they shoved her our way, hoping to get us to shut up about Ziva. I want Ziva _now_."

"I'll speak to Mossad today about Officer Akiva, Agent Gibbs," Jen replied, her voice turning into its director tone. "Officer David has already been sent on a mission for Mossad. We are not getting her back."

"Hey, you, out," Gibbs said sternly as he got down to the bullpen to find Aliza sitting at Ziva's desk. She looked up, confusion in her eyes. Sighing in undisguised irritation, he yanked her up from the chair by the arm and pulled her down to the fifth desk. "_This _is your desk. _That_ desk," he continued, jabbing a finger at the now-empty desk, "is Ziva's. Got it?"

Aliza nodded silently.


	3. The Choice

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS.

* * *

**_Chapter 2: The Choice_**

"Pack your gear," Gibbs called as he strode into the bullpen. "We're going to Baghdad."

"Baghdad?" McGee and Tony both asked in unison, Aliza blanching.

"Like Iraq?" Tony asked.

"Well, no, DiNozzo," Gibbs said sarcastically. "Baghdad, the vacation resort. Yeah, we're going to Iraq. Get your gear!"

"Why are we going to Iraq?" Tony persisted.

"There's a ballet on that I want to see. _Get your gear!_"

"But… but it's Iraq. There's a war there. People get blown up there."

* * *

"Welcome to Baghdad, agents," called Special Agent Simon Isek as the team disembarked at Baghdad International Airport. "I'm Simon Isek. Director, it's a surprise to see you out here."

Jenny laughed, the loose scarf already pulled up over her head. Aliza was evidently less thrilled with her location. "Good to see you're alive and well, Agent Isek. Let's get started, shall we?"

"Lance Corporal James' body was taken back to base camp after our agents had fully examined the scene. One of the agents found a second body after headquarters was notified. We think it may be the lance corporal's killer. There's no ID on the body, but there is a marking we believe is uniquely identifying. The John Doe appears to be of Middle Eastern descent, in his forties or fifties. He's missing his left hand."

"What's the marking?" Tony asked, hauling equipment and suitcases into the trunk of the transport vehicle.

"Tattoo. It's a six-point star. Two swords crossed in front of it and a lightning bolt piercing it."

"Where?" Jenny asked sharply.

"On the right shoulder blade. You know the symbol?"

"I'm surprised _you_ don't, Isek, to tell you the truth," Tony said. "It's the mark of a Mossad specials ops officer."

"Komemuite. You don't know them?" Jenny asked with a frown.

"You don't see a whole lot of Jews in Iraq, ma'am. Not many of them are crazy enough to come in."

"_Metsada_ are," Gibbs sighed.

* * *

"Boss, this is too easy," McGee said slowly as he placed another shell casing into the bag. "The scene seems staged."

"It does, McGee," Gibbs said grimly as he stood up. "DiNozzo! Look around, see if you can spot any lurkers!" he called.

"Got it, boss!" Tony called back, casually beginning to take a stroll around the block.

Nobody seemed to stand out, until he saw the motorcycle. A woman's build, dressed in black, the visor on her helmet covering her face. When she seemed to notice Tony, she revved the bike and started driving off.

Undaunted, Tony hopped on the motorcycle he had begged out of Gibbs and tore off after her.

* * *

"Damn it, Tony, stop following me…" Ziva muttered to herself as she cast a glance into her mirrors. She had led him on a merry chase throughout Baghdad and in the outskirts. She had nowhere else to go but back to the safe house.

Putting an extra burst of speed, she managed to outpace him.

* * *

Still shaking when she entered the house, Ziva pried off her helmet and peeled off her riding gear. It had been unusually hot as of late, so beneath the riding gear, she had worn only a thin undershirt and her panties. Sighing, she dropped to the couch. Nothing left to do except wait for the extraction team.

Closing her eyes, Ziva tried to think through what she would negotiate with her father, fingers still trying to play with her absent necklace. The terms they had set out before the mission would have been forgotten by now. A 5-year contract with NCIS. Her name went on no records of this hit. He would withdraw his surveillance and leave her alone… Her phone rang and she jumped at it. It had to be the extraction team, they wouldn't risk leaving an operative alone inside an Arab country for long. "David."

_"The risks are too great, Officer David,"_ came her father's voice, cool, detached, professional. _"There will be no extraction."_ He hung up before she could protest.

Ziva stood in shock for a minute, staring at the receiver. They wouldn't keep the utilities running at all now, even if they weren't going to blow the house up. She had no ID – she couldn't get out of the country without smuggling herself out, and that was nearly impossible in a war where soldiers were searching every cargo hold, every truck, every crate, every trunk and bag.

She was essentially being condemned to death. She'd been deceived – her father had never intended to extract her. He had decided she was a liability, but he had no plausible grounds to order a hit.

* * *

Ziva screamed curses at him in every language she knew for the better part of two hours. Then, she got up, got dressed and packed her bag. She couldn't take the motorcycle – she couldn't risk walking around in her regular clothes, and it would be too noticeable that she was not a native if she tried to drive with the robes on.

Pulling the robes on, Ziva was careful to wind her veil so that it ran no risk of exposing her face. In some parts of the Middle East, she would pass a glance test, but not here. She wasn't dark enough – damn her damn father for being European! If she'd been full-blooded Sabra, she might've passed the glance test.

She couldn't risk calling NCIS – Mossad would have their land phones tapped, their cell phones traced, the team under surveillance – probably by some mousy little Beth Shalom student they'd never suspect. The Iraqis would know as soon as they heard her speak – they would hear the Israeli accent, the Hebrew lilt. The last Mossad agent to pose as Muslim had been slowly dismembered and sent back to Tel Aviv in over fifty small parcels.

It slowly hit her that she was going to die here. She was going to die here and Tony would never know how close he came to seeing her once more.

* * *

"Lost track of her, boss," Tony said as he returned to base camp. "Woman on a bike."

Gibbs looked up. "You catch a view of her face?"

"Nope. Visor was down," Tony replied. "The other vic have any ID on him?"

"Nope," Gibbs replied. "Didn't really expect him to. We'll have to e-mail a photo over to Mossad, get them to identify him. I have a bad feeling this might be the Israelis' fault."

"So we're going to Tel Aviv, boss?" McGee asked, looking up. Aliza also looked up at mention of her home.

"Yup. Going to Tel Aviv. Pack your gear, boys. We can dump Aliza there and swipe Ziva on the way."

"Sounds good to me, boss," Tony said quickly, gathering up his equipment.

* * *

Aliza Akiva was fervently wishing right about now that she could figure out a way to stop them from investigating further without letting on that she understood what they were saying. They never taught this in class.

NCIS could not be allowed to know that Ziva was most likely dead. That Mossad had ordered a hit on a US Marine, that a hit had been ordered on the officer responsible, and then _that_ officer purposely abandoned. They could not know.

* * *

"Well, no, Jen, I don't think there's a link at all," Gibbs said sarcastically. "A dead Marine with a dead _metsada_ barely a gunshot's length away? Coincidence."

"Jethro, we can't just waltz into Mossad headquarters and demand the information on a highly-sensitive case and accuse them of murdering a Marine!"

"No, you're right, Jen. We don't waltz, we storm. Did you _get_ that memo, _director_? You don't kill an ally's soldier unannounced, it's bad politics. Even _I_ know that."

"Do I need to say the name 'Ari Haswari', Agent Gibbs?"

Tony and McGee looked at each other in resignation. Gibbs and the director would be bickering the entire way to Tel Aviv.

* * *

The accompanying Marines stopped them for a brief period when they heard the shouts of insurgents and the scream of a woman.

"One seconds, agents," the captain said apologetically, just as they saw six men appear from around the corner, all restraining a young woman fighting violently to free herself. She wore the robes and the cloak of a conservative Muslim woman, the veil around her face dislodging with every kick and pull at her arms. She was fighting so desperately, and the men's grips were so tight that her clothes were ripping with every yank.

"Stop! Stop, release her!" one soldier yelled, approaching. One man whipped out an AK-47 at that order, screaming something angry in Arabic.

The woman screamed something back at him, and the blow she received in rewards snapped her head to one side so drastically that NCIS thought for sure that she had snapped her neck.

* * *

Tony didn't claim to know Arabic, but he thought he heard the same phrase screamed over and over, and he could swear the word 'Komemuite' was in there.

The young woman fell unconscious in the men's arms, and in their surprise they nearly dropped her weight. The momentum made the veil finally fall away, briefly revealing a face much too light to be Iraqi. Long black curls tumbled free and blocked her face before anybody could get a good look at it.

More insurgents began appearing around the airfield, and the captain said, "Let's go. Forget it, let's get out of here before they start blowing us up…"

And as the plane took off into the air, the last they saw of the captive woman was the men dragging her motionless body off the airfield and into a waiting truck.

"Wonder what she did?" McGee muttered to Tony.

"I'm not so sure she did anything, probie," Tony replied quietly.

* * *

They arrived at Mossad headquarters about two hours later, and by now, Gibbs was good and steamed over the dead Komemuite officer.

Tony didn't need to be able to read Hebrew to know who they were being introduced to – he had heard about the man innumerable times, and never in a good capacity.

"This is Deputy Director Benyamin David," Jen said quietly to the team assembled behind her. "Director David, this is Special Agents Gibbs, McGee and –"

"DiNozzo," David replied coolly, his blue eyes glinting like icy pools as he met gazes with Tony. "Yes, I know."

His accent was weird, Tony noticed. He could hear the Israeli part of it, the same slightly chant-like lilt that Ziva had, but there was something else, something guttural. Almost Germanic…

_

* * *

_

"So where

did_ you learn all these languages?" Tony asked one night, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her hair as she nestled comfortably against him, her head tucked into his neck._

_Ziva laughed slightly. "When you grow up where I did, Tony, multilingualism is a necessity. You learn Arabic and Hebrew in everyday life. You learn English and French and Spanish in school. You learn Yiddish and Polish and German and Russian from your parents and your grandparents. You pick up things like Italian and Turkish and Greek."_

_Tony shook his head. "God, I didn't think the human brain could hold that much information. Do you actually speak all of those?"_

_"Hebrew, Arabic, German, Yiddish, English, French, Spanish, Italian, Turkish. Not so much Polish and Russian and Greek. My father is German by birth, naturalized Israeli."_

* * *

"Who is this? He's Komemuite," Gibbs asked without precursor, holding out a photo of their dead Mossad officer.

David barely glanced at it before he said, "He was a traitor. Al-Qaeda information seller."

"Doesn't answer my question, David," Gibbs said dangerously. "Who is he? I want his name, his personnel file, his list of recent targets. I want everything."

"That is Officer Shiloh Sharon. Moshe here will get you the information you need, Agent Gibbs. We will set up a space for you in our conference centre." He delivered a curt order to the young man standing wordlessly at his side, and the officer nodded and disappeared into another section of the office. "If I may speak to Officer Akiva for a moment?"

* * *

Tony lingered behind for a moment, watching David berate the young officer before clearly banishing her from his presence. Aliza left rapidly, fighting back tears as she headed down the hall in the opposite direction of the conference room. Tony took off after her and slipped inside the secured doors just before they closed.

It looked like the hallway of a school, but he saw none of the posters that he remembered from his own high school years. As he advanced into the hallway, he could see into the classrooms through small windows in the doors. Outside each classroom was a sheet of paper with lists in Hebrew posted.

The first class looked to be about kindergarten age. As he progressed, the children inside the classroom grew older and older, until he reached what looked to be the later junior high years. The children's expressions and behaviours changed drastically at that point: earlier on, they had still been children, playing, horsing around, giggling and laughing. Now, they were more serious, studious and almost robotic in their movement. The high school students even seemed to be doing some weapons training, interrogation training. By the time he had reached the end of the hallway, and what was likely the graduating class, they were little soldiers, each with the exception of a few wearing a gun and a knife holstered at their side. A few of them were even wearing military uniform.

"You should not be here," came a voice from behind him, and Tony jumped and whirled around. "Come, Agent DiNozzo, before they spot you."

"How do you…"

"Officer Malachi Meir, Agent DiNozzo, I work Intelligence. I was part of the team dispatched to Washington last year to conduct surveillance on Ziva. Come, you must not be seen in here."

"What the…" Tony trailed off and chose not to ask why Ziva was being watched. "What the hell is this place?"

"Beth Shalom School," Malachi replied. "More colloquially known as 'Mossad school'. Almost all the officers in Mossad have graduated from here. Most of our parents went through it, a lot of us have grandparents who founded it. The conference centre is down the hallway and to your right."

"That last classroom…"

"The graduating class. Some of them have already turned 18 and are serving their conscription, that is why some wear military uniform and some do not."

"The ones without sidearms?"

"Either lucky enough to escape Mossad enrolment or assigned to a non-field unit. More likely to be the latter than the former."

* * *

"Something's off here," Gibbs muttered as the Americans were gathered in a small corner of the conference centre while David was busy with some sort of missile recon mission on the video screen. "This dossier isn't nearly as complete as I expect out of Komemuite."

"You think it's another pacifier, Jethro?" Jen asked softly, watching the screen for a moment.

"Wouldn't put it past him, Jen," Gibbs replied, just as there was a shout of dismay from the few officers seated at the control panel and a yell of rage from David.

Somebody had cut into the satellite feed into Mossad and the screen now showed a dark room with only a few dim lights. A voice echoed over the speakers in Arabic and a distant cry of pain filtered through.

An Arab face that looked eerily familiar filled the screen whilst David was howling at the frantic and horrified officers. A dark and looming threat echoed into the room. The face moved aside and into the bad light of the room came two others, hauling a woman with them. She was dressed in torn robes, the veil falling around her shoulders and hair tumbling down over her face, head dropped forward. As the first face moved behind her, he grabbed hold of a fistful of curls and yanked her head back.

It was Ziva. Mere seconds later, David's poor flustered officers had retrieved the original feed and he was calmly returning to the recon at hand.


	4. The Undercover Go Undercover

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the NCIS characters or plotlines.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The next few chapters will delve a bit into the POV of, shall we say (for fear of spoilers), acquaintances of Ziva. Ziva isn't as solitary as we think she is…

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Undercover Go Undercover**

Mordecai Horowitz had never hated his job as much as he had that day. It was true, he was in a non-field position, he didn't put his life on the line every day like his friends in Intelligence and Komemuite. But he was the one who saw the dark and dirty side of Mossad's administration. He was the one who had to draft condolence letters to the families of officers supposedly 'killed in the line of duty' and then filed the mission reports of their killers. It was timid, stammering, bespectacled Motel was the one who had typed up the mission outlines deemed suicidal for his friends and classmates who had later died or were captured. Kemuel's mission to Ramallah, Raphael's mission to Lebanon, Ziva's mission to Iraq. He could barely face the reality of his life – he worked for the devil.

* * *

Simon Rosen had no choice but to remain silent and obey his director's orders. Reaching out to the kill switch, he closed the feed coming in from Al-Qaeda and returned to the previous screen, the frightened eyes of his friend and classmate still burning into his mind.

He cast a momentary glance behind him at Malachi, who had entered just as the feed had pushed through, at Motel, who still stood motionless next to the director. At the Americans frozen in horror in the rear of the room.

He had talked to Ziva only a day or so before she had been recalled. She had sounded so happy, so settled for once, and it was a nice change to hear from his wild childhood companion. She was involved with an American man who sounded to be a good fit for her, a man not intimidated by her passion for life in general.

* * *

Malachi Meir knew that something had to be done. Ziva never would have knowingly stranded herself in Iraq, never would have agreed to the mission in the first place without expecting to be extracted. He had suspected that Director David was upset with his daughter for the past year, ever since his order to lock surveillance on her in Washington. He and Zelig had been suspicious of the orders, especially when they saw nothing amiss. So Ziva had a new lover and hadn't told her father. It wasn't the first time, Ziva always had a new lover and she didn't tell her father a thing anymore. And Director David was becoming invasive – their last recon had been so invasive Zelig had nearly refused to submit his report.

_

* * *

_

"It's her own life, Malachi!" Zelig exclaimed. "Did you see her? This one means something more to her. Goddamn it, she's

happy_! That's the first I've seen her happy since Rafi!"_

_"Well, you tell the deputy director that and see how he takes it," Malachi said quietly. "He's angry. Maybe Motel can tell us more. But you refuse to submit this report, Zelig, you're signing not only her death warrant but yours."_

* * *

"Get the feed back," Jenny ordered David quietly as she approached. "Get it back. What did they want?"

"More than they will receive, Director Shepard."

"Your officer is still alive, Director David! You get that feed back, we can trace it, we can locate them and send a rescue unit!"

"It is not in my policy to rescue the dead, Director Shepard," David replied stiffly. "That feed would have been a hoax. Al-Qaeda does not capture Jews hiding as Muslims, they slaughter them."

"That's the woman we saw at Baghdad International, Jen," Gibbs said quietly as he came up behind her. "That was Ziva. I don't leave my people behind."

"There is nobody to leave behind, Agent Gibbs," David said again. "She is dead."

* * *

Motel couldn't take it any longer. After Director David had left for the evening, he sat down at his computer and sent around an encrypted message to the other officers in his immediate circle, knowing that they would send it on to the other men and women in their units.

_She is alive and easily extractable. He will not give the order._

By morning, the director would have a silent revolt on his hands, and an undercover extraction team of the best Motel could assemble would be in Iraq to find and rescue her.

* * *

"But who do we send?" Simon asked as they gathered that evening in a local bar.

"Sulaiman, you go," Motel said. "We will need somebody Arabic."

"Lev and Malachi," Sulaiman Ben-Tsion nodded. "We cannot risk sending more. Two Komemuite and an Intelligence should be sufficient. Can we arrange a covered flight?"

"My brother Levi is a pilot," Hiram Davidovich spoke up. "He will gladly fly you into Baghdad undetected. If we contact Etan and Yehudi, you should be able to find a way around the border guards at the airport."

"Simon, get us a copy of the feed registry," Motel said. "You and the Americans work on tracking a location."

"I know that place," Sulaiman interrupted. "We know where we're going. If Simon can work on identifying the captors…"

"Are we bringing the Americans into this?" Myriam Rogel asked sharply. "I thought this was purely a Beth Shalom thing. It's her stupid Americans that got her into this in the first place. Malachi should stay behind and I go in his place –"

"Ziva's Americans will be valuable sources of information, Myriam. And we are not sending another woman into Iraq, I'm sorry," Motel replied sternly. "The rest of us should go about our business as usual. We can't let on to the director that we are running an op without his approval."

"The op shouldn't take any more than a week," Lev Meyer said. "Simon, can you get a hold of Reuven and Sarah? We'll need Sarah's help once Ziva's back in Israel."

"Bring her straight to their home in Jerusalem," Simon said with a nod. "Don't bring her back to Tel Aviv. The Americans can take her from Jerusalem to Washington."

"Will everybody be able to hold up if the director suspects something?" Sulaiman asked quietly, and the field officers in the circle all looked at the non-field officers, especially Motel.

Motel, Leib Mogen, Chaim Cohen and Hiram all looked at each other nervously before nodding slowly.

"For Beth Shalom, yes," Leib replied. "Ziva's been the director's scapegoat for too long." All the group nodded in agreement.

"I will not watch another friend die by his order," Motel said quietly. "Sulaiman, Lev, Malachi, go. Hiram, get a hold of Levi, tell him they leave immediately. Simon, contact Reuven and Sarah, warn them that she's coming. Myriam, you go fill in the Americans. They're staying at the Oz hotel."

* * *

"I can't believe he shut off the transmission," McGee muttered, as Gibbs and Tony both sported equally dark glowers. "Her own father –"

"The man's a bastard, he always has been," Jenny cut him off wearily. "His kids were never children, they were pawns and Ziva's been his scapegoat for a long time."

"But to leave her captured by Al-Qaeda?" Tony demanded hotly, just as a knock sounded at the door. He got up to answer it, pulling it open to reveal a young woman about Ziva's age, with long dark hair and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. "You."

"Mr. Hackensack Nudist Society, we meet again," she said with a wry smile. "May I enter?"

"Come in, Myriam," Jenny called. "Jethro, Tony, McGee, this is Myriam Rogel from Komemuite."

"What do you want?" Gibbs asked bluntly.

Myriam sighed and sat down in a vacant chair. "We need your help."

"What makes you think we'll give it to you?" Gibbs retorted coolly.

* * *

Myriam looked at him a moment. Then she sighed again and stood up. "Very well. I told Malachi we should not bring you into this. It seems I was right. This is a Beth Shalom problem and we will deal with it ourselves." With that, she left the room rapidly.

"Wait!" came the call from one of the younger agents as she walked quickly down the hall. "Hold on for a second, would you?"

"Yes?" she asked pointedly, turning around.

"You really don't get nuance in Mossad, do you?" he asked. "He didn't say we wouldn't help. He asked why you were trusting us to help you."

Myriam eyed him momentarily. "We have no time to waste on banter. Will you or will you not help us?"

"What are you doing?"

"Rescuing Ziva."

* * *

Ziva moaned as she stirred on the humid dirt floor. Where was she? What had happened? Why was she bound? How had she ended up here? Who had brought her here?

Slowly, it began returning to her. She was in an Al-Qaeda prison, captured by Iraqi insurgents when they had caught her trying to pass herself off as Arabic. Her father had abandoned her and refused the transmission her captors had sent.

How long before they killed her? How long before they were through trying to torture her into giving up information on Mossad? She couldn't last much longer, that much she knew for certain.

Carefully, she began trying to undo the knots trying her hands together. The rope was of sufficient length to fashion a noose. The ropes binding her ankles added to the one around her wrists would be enough to lengthen the cord.

It wasn't the ideal way to die, she had to admit, but one had to play the cards one was dealt. They had found her suicide pill. They had taken her weapons. She was left with no alternative.

She would not betray Mossad as she had NCIS.


	5. Finding Ziva

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Rescuing Ziva**

She had to be careful about the timing. Al-Qaeda's guards would check in on her every six hours. Her interrogator came in every twelve hours, three hours off from the second round of guards. Various insurgents would look into her cell every two hours off from the guards. It made suicide extremely hard to manage. No, preservation, not suicide – suicide sounded so cowardly.

Ziva froze as another guard looked into her cell, the ropes once binding her wrists hidden behind her back.

"It's too bad your religion forbids suicide, yes?" the guard asked with a smirk. "Now would be a good time to die, Jew."

"At least we don't make our children blow themselves up because we're too cowardly to do it ourselves," Ziva returned with a hiss.

The guard sniffed in return. "You know nothing, Jew," he muttered and closed the door. Ziva returned to work.

* * *

"This is the one time I hope they found the suicide pill," Sulaiman muttered under his breath to Lev and Malachi as they watched the Al-Qaeda prison. "I'd hate to think we did all this for nothing."

"Ziva doesn't carry a suicide pill, does she?" Malachi asked in surprise.

"Ever since Kemuel was beheaded," Lev nodded. "She never wanted to be captured alive."

"Hmm. A lot of good that did her," Malachi sighed.

* * *

David looked around the task room suspiciously. "Rosen!" he snapped. "Where is Officer Meir?"

"I don't know, sir, he requested today off," Simon replied immediately.

"He did, sir, I have the validated request right here," Motel spoke up, handing him the request authorization form.

"Oh. Well, get me Ben-Tsion, Moshe. I have an assignment."

"Mordecai," Motel muttered.

"What was that?" David asked.

"Nothing, sir. Officer Ben-Tsion hasn't shown up to work yet. Neither has Officer Meyer."

"Hasn't shown up?" David said.

"No, sir," Motel replied, "and they're not answering their home phones or cell phones."

"Write a disciplinary letter then and find Officer Rogel. Must I instruct you in everything, Moshe?"

"No, sir," Motel sighed, taking off before David could think of something else to berate him about. Some days there was just no winning with him.

* * *

"Hey, Myriam," Motel said as he entered the Komemuite office. "Director David has an assignment for you. I'd go as fast as you can, he's not in a good mood today. Sandrine, I need Sulaiman and Lev's dossiers, please."

"Yeah, where _are_ they, any way?" the Komemuite supervising officer asked as she found the two dossiers.

"Unaccounted for. I'm putting a disciplinary note in these."

* * *

"Why are we going to Jerusalem again?" Tony asked.

"The extractors are bringing Ziva there. They've got a friend who's a medic living in Jerusalem," Jenny replied. "There's too many people involved in this operation in the same place. We're liabilities."

"How do we know when they've got Ziva?" McGee asked quietly.

"They'll find a covert way to contact us," Gibbs replied, pressing down the gas pedal just a little more.

* * *

Ziva secured the knot to the pipeline running above her head. She had only minutes to go, somebody would be entering soon.

Taking a deep breath, she slipped the noose around her neck. She heard voices in the distance.

She kicked out the chair from beneath her.

* * *

"Damn it, Sulaiman, I thought you said you knew where you were going!" Lev exploded as Sulaiman returned a little worse for the wear with his run-in with the Al-Qaeda guards. "You don't have a damn clue where she is, do you?"

"I know what the Al-Qaeda prison looks like, Lev, I spent two years in it!" Sulaiman spat back. "She's not there, they must've moved her!"

"Now what the hell are we supposed to do?" Malachi demanded, looking around uneasily. "Not only are you two unaccounted for at Mossad, but we're a bunch of Jews stuck in Iraq!"

"Hey, I'm half-Druze," Sulaiman protested.

"Almost as bad as a Jew," Malachi replied. "Well, I'm not leaving Ziva behind."

"And how do you propose we find her?" Lev snapped.

Sulaiman hesitated momentarily before he opened up the fist clenched tightly at his side. "I don't think we're going to."

In the palm of his hand was a scrap of the veil Ziva had been wearing, bloodied and torn.

* * *

"Jew. Jew, you must wake," came a quiet, urgent voice in Arabic.

Ziva moaned as she slowly came to. They had cut her down... "I will not tell you anything, Arab."

"I am not asking for information. You do not have much time. Which country do you come from?"

"I will tell you nothing."

"Israeli, then. Only Mossad would refuse to identify their country. You must listen to me, and listen carefully. We do not have much time. I am putting you on an Al-Qaeda transport destined for Jerusalem. You will be wrapped in canvas. You must not move during the trip, no matter what happens, or you will truly be killed. The truck will be passing by Israeli border security. The security guards will let the transport pass, and you must let them go. They will, however, find you and remove your body with some of the cargo. After that, you will be free to go back to where you came from."

* * *

NCIS could only drop to the ground in shock as they watched the conversation going on on the doorstep of the Rosen house.

One of the Mossad officers was shaking his head as he spoke to Reuven outside the front door.

Sarah shook her head faintly, her hand over her mouth. "No... no..."

Reuven came back inside and looked around the room. "It seems that the deputy director was right."

"Sulaiman found nothing?" Sarah asked softly.

"Nothing," Reuven confirmed, wrapping his arms around her as she buried her face into his shoulder. "They are likely shipping her body back to Mossad as we speak."

"Or what is left of it," Sarah murmured.

"The difference between Mossad and NCIS," Gibbs said coldly, standing up and gesturing for Tony, McGee and Jenny to do the same, "is that we don't give up on our people until we have their body lying on an autopsy table. We're going back to Mossad, and if that damn director doesn't want to answer any questions, we will tear that building apart until we find out what I want to know."


	6. Coming Home

**Chapter 5: Coming Home**

Ziva bit back the gasp of pain as the truck rumbled over another pothole, jolting her body again. It seemed like eternity had passed in this dark hole. How long before they passed Israeli borders? How long before she could escape and return home – home to what, she didn't know, but home still the same.

She could hear the driver and the passengers talking in Arabic, the one nearest to her making no effort to avoid kicking the canvas which hid her – she had the distinct impression that they all knew they had the body of a Mossad officer there.

They were discussing an attack planned on one of the major thoroughfares of the West Bank. They were to meet with an Israeli guard at the Israel border in the next hour or so to deposit the cargo and discuss the plans. Since they believed her to be dead, they were making no effort to hide the identity of the guard.

"Ha-Or will try to deliver the Jewess Salim killed himself. He will be a liability at this point, however. He has no idea that the Jewess is an old classmate, and he may refuse his task as a result. One of our Tel Aviv brothers will deal with him if that happens and finish the delivery."

***

"Director Shepard, can I assist you with something?" Motel asked dully as the team entered David's office. "Deputy Director David has no time for a meeting today." The angry howls of David could be heard from outside the closed door.

"Damn it, he'll _make_ time," Gibbs growled, shoving past him to push open the door. "I'll make him. David!" He opened the door to find three young officers standing silently in a row as David berated them. They bore the unmistakable marks of an undercover mission gone wrong.

Tony recognized one of the young men as the officer who had kicked him out of the school the day of their arrival. As he and McGee slipped in silently behind Gibbs and the director, the young man – what was his name again, Meyer, Mair? – sent a sympathetic glance in his direction.

"Agent Gibbs, you will have to wait!" David snapped at him.

"Damn if I wait for you to finish covering up Ziva's murder as though it never happened!" Gibbs snapped back.

David dismissed the officers curtly and then turned back to Gibbs, the two men practically nose-to-nose in their rage. "I do not cover up my officers' deaths, Agent Gibbs. We simply do not dwell on it as though it was unexpected. The _metsada_ know that they may die by enemy hand every time they leave on a mission. Making a big spectacle out of an officer's death simply increases the danger to other officers still undercover."

"Don't give me that line," Gibbs snarled. "You deliberately ignored her. She might still be alive if it wasn't for you."

"Agent McGee, Agent DiNozzo, can you wait outside please?" Jen asked quietly as she stepped forward to try and defuse the situation. The two younger agents nodded and backed out, joining the officers outside.

"Your boss is fighting a losing battle," the assistant said quietly. "If he thinks he will win this fight, he is sadly mistaken. If the deputy director could be swayed by anybody – "

"A lot more officers might still be alive," one of the officers finished grimly.

***

Ziva barely managed to stop herself from gasping in shock when she heard the voice of the Israeli guard.

"Did you bring the deliveries?" Yehudi was asking quietly, as he was pretending to search the truck. "I'm going to Tel Aviv directly after this."

Ziva braced herself for the pain as one of the Hamas officers roughly kicked her canvas-covered body out of the truck. "Yeah, there it is. Make sure you keep the little Jew-girl covered, hey? Wouldn't want to take away all the shock value the newspapers will have when she shows up on Mossad's step."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Yehudi replied, his boots making a resounding _thunk_ and clouds of dirt as he jumped back down from the truck barely inches away from Ziva's outstretched hand. "Everything else is going according to schedule. Drive on. It's clear!" he called to his partner at the gate. As he leaned down and lifted Ziva's body into his arms, she had one horrifying moment as she thought he realized she was alive. But the moment soon passed, and Yehudi placed her into a crate of some kind, closing and nailing shut the lid.

Ziva's heart began to race. If she wasn't dead now, she soon would be, unless there was a crack of some kind… She quickly disentangled her head from the canvas, spotted a knothole and breathed a sigh of relief. As she relaxed slightly, she managed to move carefully enough to make herself as comfortable as possible, wrapping the canvas around her as a blanket and piling some of the spare fabric beneath her head.

***

Beth Shalom had gathered in the dark bar across the street from Mossad after shift, a dark and looming cloud over their heads.

"You remember when we were in seventh grade," Etan said dully, "and –"

"Who _doesn't_ remember seventh grade?" Malachi said dryly. "We locked Motel in the janitor's closet of Yad Vashem and Officer Wiens didn't realize it until we were back in Tel Aviv."

"And the whole way back, Ziva kept trying to interrupt his conversation with Ms Domenic to try and tell him we'd left Motel behind," Sarah laughed.

"And by the time we got back there," Simon added, downing another shot, "somebody had found Motel and kicked him off the property."

"Didn't we spend the next fifteen hours trying to track him down in Jerusalem?" Myriam asked.

"You did," Motel confirmed with a small smile. "And I had actually gotten on a bus to go back to Tel Aviv."

"Ziva had actually called Ari to ask if Hamas had captured him for ransom, remember?" Reuven continued.

"Officer Wiens and Officer Horowitz must've yelled at us for two days straight after that," Lev said fondly.

"The first and only time I ever got to laugh at your expense," Motel said.

Leib sighed as he looked out the window, watching one of State Security's trucks arrive in front of Mossad and idle for a few minutes. "Truck number 16939. Etan, whose truck is that?"

"Yehudi's, if I'm not mistaken," Etan replied. "He was stationed with Transfers at the Syria border last I heard. I couldn't get a hold of him to tell him about Ziva."

"Somebody should go tell him before he leaves," Sarah said quietly.

"I'll go," Simon volunteered, getting to his feet.

***

Ziva froze when the truck stopped and Yehudi began to pry off the lid of her prison crate. Was he honestly going to just dump her body in the streets? Closing her eyes as the last nail was pulled out, Ziva started to pray again.

She heard the sharp intake of breath when he lifted the lid off. "My God, Ziva…" he whispered, tossing aside the lid. "You were the officer they killed in Baghdad? My God…" She heard the sound of his sidearm being loaded and her heart began to pound wildly. There was no way she could overpower him in time if he decided to shoot her again.

The sounds of a silencer being screwed to the sidearm only intensified her panic. Then the sound of Simon's voice calling Yehudi from outside distracted him.

"Damn," he muttered. "Damn, I knew I should've taken somebody else's truck…"

***

The truck rumbled off just as Simon was approaching from the bar and the NCIS agents were exiting the Mossad building. Something rather large and wrapped in rough canvas tumbled from the back of the truck, falling heavily to the ground without moving.

"What the hell, Yehudi?!" Simon howled at the disappearing truck. "Don't touch it," he called warningly to NCIS, who looked like they were about to go inspect it. Advancing cautiously, Simon could estimate the unknown object at roughly the size of an adult. Hamas had been tossing murdered officers in the streets lately – it wasn't all that impossible that they had stolen Yehudi's truck to make the drop.

A red stain was slowly spreading across the canvas, one limp, battered hand protruding from the canvas and a barely-recognizable face was uncovered by the canvas when it had landed.

Oh, God. It was Ziva's body, dumped in the streets for every reporter in Tel Aviv to jump at.

"Guys!" Simon yelled in Hebrew as he and the NCIS team all went rushing at the body. "Sarah! Leib! Motel!"

"Ziva!" Gibbs was yelling, even as DiNozzo was dropping to his knees next to her body, trying to disentangle her limp form from the canvas.

"Ziva, Ziva, please answer me," DiNozzo begged.

But there was neither answer nor movement from the young Israeli, as chaos exploded around her.


	7. Twice in a Lifetime

**CHAPTER 6: TWICE IN A LIFETIME**

Tony had never realized how much he hated hospitals. Even foreign hospitals. Especially foreign hospitals. Especially foreign hospitals where the doctors spoke little if any English and Israeli officers didn't keep him informed as they were updated.

She was still clinging precariously to life. Clinging by a thread so thin, it threatened to snap with every breath she took. Her body starved, battered, ravaged, broken, pierced, cut, burnt and then gunned down, all in a span of a few weeks. Had it really only been just a few short months ago that they had been back in her apartment in Washington, trying to forget that a child's murderer had been released on a technicality? Just a few short months ago that he had woken up without her warm, soft body curved into his?

Was it possible to live without her, now that he knew that she existed? Could he really move on with life, knowing that she was gone? God, it hurt worse than it had when he'd lied to Jeanne, told her it was all a lie. It hurt like somebody had taken the tenderest slice of his heart and stomped on it with hobnailed boots.

Sitting in the chair by her bedside, Tony watched her breathe, rubbing his thumb lightly and absently across her palm, her hand motionless in his.

"She is still unconscious?" asked one of the officers quietly as he entered the room. The Mossad officers seemed to be coming and going on some sort of pre-determined schedule. This one, Tony didn't mind: he was quiet enough, left Tony well enough alone. He couldn't remember the officer's name – not that he cared, anyway, he just wanted Ziva awake and on the next flight home with him.

"Obviously," Tony replied tersely, looking up briefly and then returning his gaze to Ziva.

"I am sorry, I did not mean to state the obvious," the officer apologized, his hands in his pockets. "It is just… it is a little unnerving for all of us to see her like this."

"No kidding?" Tony asked sarcastically. "This isn't exactly normal Ziva behavior."

The officer laughed slightly. Then he took a seat in the chair opposite Tony and said, "You do not know the half of it, Agent DiNozzo. You did not grow up with Ziva. I did."

"Simon, I was told I might find you here," Jenny said quietly as she entered the room. "Tony, go back to the hotel. I'll stay with Ziva for tonight. Officer Rosen and I have some discussions to hold."

"With all due respect, director," Tony said, as he gripped Ziva's hand a little more tightly, "Ziva is my partner. I'm not going to abandon her."

"Tony, this is not a request," Jenny repeated. "Go back to the hotel." She gave him a stern glare when he opened his mouth to argue. Sighing in disgust, the young agent got to his feet and stalked out. Once gone, Jenny returned her attention to Simon as she took Tony's chair. "It's been quite some time, Simon."

***

_The sun was shining brightly that day, Ziva remembered. Even though it was winter, the sun still shone. It was like a sign. A sign that it was meant to be._

"_Ziva – " came Ari's voice from the doorway. Gasping with delight, she turned around. "Ari! You made it!" Laughing, she let him wrap her up into his arms and swing her around. "Please tell me you're going to stay, Ari," she begged. "Just ignore Father. Please stay."_

"_Zivaleh, you know I can't," her brother said softly, even as he laid a gentle kiss on her cheek and readjusted the veil he had knocked askew. "I came to give you my congratulations." He smiled at her. "It's a beautiful day to get married. Like a sign. I think Allah approves of Raphael."_

_It was such a shame moments like these only happened once in a lifetime._

***

_The sun was shining brightly that day, she remembered. Even though it was winter, the sun still shone. It was like a sign. A sign that it was meant to be._

"_Ziva – " came his voice from behind her. His arms slid around her waist, pulling her back against his warm, solid body. "We don't have to make anything of this. All we need to do is take it one day at a time."_

_And then one day at a time became something of substance, something of permanence, no matter what they told themselves. It became almost expected that when she woke in the morning, he would be there, his arm over her waist and the heat of his body infiltrating every one of her pores. His lips pressing light, drowsy kisses against her neck._

_It was such a shame moments like these only happened once in a lifetime._

***

Tony had just reentered the hospital room when her eyes began to move beneath her closed eyelids. Gasping in delight, he quickly retook his seat.

"Do not get your hopes up, Agent DiNozzo," Simon told him quietly. "She has been doing that for the last ten hours. The doctors say it may just be muscle spasms."

"Killjoy," Tony muttered darkly.

***

_The day she met him, she could've cared less about him. Ari was her priority._

_It was the first day of kindergarten, she recalled. He had been the second to arrive, with Kemuel. She couldn't remember much else about that day, but she remembered him entering the room and trying to establish the pecking order. What was Raphael Bashan but a boy? He didn't have a motorcycle. Ari did. Ari was coming to Tel Aviv tonight on his motorcycle, and he would let her ride with him, just like always._

_But if she had to pass the hours until Ari came, at least she would have somebody who would keep up with her. "Bet you can't catch me, Rafi!"_

***

_The day she met him, she could've cared less about him. Ari was her priority._

_He blamed her brother, and by extension, he blamed her. The Americans were accusing Ari of murdering their agent, when it was just impossible, unfathomable that he would do such a thing without first telling her. Even when he took Agent Todd to warn her of the attack, he had warned Ziva. He had laid out his plan piece by piece for her._

_She would prove them wrong. She would prove them all wrong._

***

"Still not awake?" Gibbs asked quietly as he entered the room. Both Tony and Simon shook their heads. "Why don't you boys both go catch some air?" he suggested. "I'll stay here with Ziva." When the two young men looked reluctant, he added, "This is not a request."

Sighing as he slid into the chair DiNozzo had emptied, he watched his agent's pale, motionless face. "You'd better wake up soon, Ziva," he said. "I don't think anybody can take much more of this."

***

_The first time she'd kissed him, they were on an undercover mission._

_They had returned to their safe house late. They had narrowly escaped the gunfire of Hamas. The Komemuite officers were still battling, but the officers-in-training were liabilities at that point. They were supposed to wait in the truck, and the military on the mission would return them to Tel Aviv._

_It was unplanned, as she impulsively leaned in and kissed him. Rafi was in shock, but not enough to ignore her proposal. As his arms slid around her waist, Ziva wrapped her arms around his neck. _

_It was the first time that night for a lot of things._

***

_The first time she'd kissed him, they were on an undercover mission._

_The man was charming, she'd give him that much. He knew how to play the game. He was good at what he did, she hadn't seen anybody the least bit suspicious since their arrival an hour ago. He almost seemed to be having fun playing this game with her. When she felt him brush dangerously close, it took all her willpower to stop what came naturally to her since becoming _metsada_: to do whatever it took to complete the mission, and if that meant sleeping with him…_

_But she couldn't. She just couldn't. So she hit him instead._

***

"She any closer to waking up, boss?" Tony asked softly as he came back in. Gibbs shook his head. "Somehow, I didn't think so," he murmured, replacing Gibbs in the chair.

Gibbs sighed. "Eventually, DiNozzo, somebody's going to have to give the word."

"No," Tony said immediately. "Never."

"I hate to tell you, DiNozzo, but it's not up to you," Gibbs replied as he left.

***

_The first moment she realized that she loved him, it wasn't an extraordinary moment. It was just another day, another class, another taunt, another kiss. Another moment where Kem would break in with teases, where Motel would interrupt with something silly and irrelevant, where Myriam and Sarah would call her off into another girls-only conference, where Simon and Reuven's familial rivalry would burst through. Just another day when she argued with her father in the morning, said goodbye to Tali at the school doors, and hoped to hear from Ari at night. Just an ordinary day in an ordinary life._

_He had looked at her with those sparkling brown eyes, and he had just said her name. "Ziva." As though it were the most precious commodity in the world, as though if he were to say it too many times, it would lose its luster. His hand had brushed against her arm as he had passed in the classroom, and he had just smiled. He wasn't even smiling at her, and yet she knew that when class was done and they'd left for the day, that smile _would_ be for her, and she would bask in being somebody's single, solitary affection for just a little while._

***

_The first moment she realized that she loved him, it wasn't an extraordinary moment. It was just another day, another investigation, another tease, another look. Another moment where Gibbs would burst in, where Ducky or Jenny would show up, where McGee would return from getting lunch, where Abby would phone with exciting breaks. Just another day when she ran in the morning, kissed him goodbye at her apartment when he left to change, and fell asleep in his arms at his own apartment that night. Just an ordinary day in an ordinary life._

_He had looked at her with those sparkling blue eyes, and he had just said her name. "Ziva." As though it were a new wondrous addition to his vocabulary, as though if he didn't say it often enough, it would disappear. He would lean over her shoulder to read a report, his breath tickling against the side of her face, and he would just smile. He wasn't even smiling at her, and yet she knew that when work was finally through and they'd left for the day, that smile _would_ be for her, and she would bask in having somebody's absolute and utter devotion for just a little while._

***

Tony had fallen asleep at her bedside, hand still holding onto her own unresponsive one. His head lolled against his shoulder. He would keep to his word: he would not leave her until the day she died of her own accord, and until she'd been buried.

But he was tired after days without sleep, and the desperate slumber to which he had finally succumbed held him so captive that he didn't even stir as the hand slid out of his and the young officer who had laid so motionless for days woke, and sat up slowly.


	8. Finding Ziva, Take 2

**CHAPTER 7: FINDING ZIVA, TAKE 2**

"All right, all right, all right, everybody just calm down!" Jenny yelled over the sounds of her agents going nuts. "Tony, what's going on?"

"She's – she's – she's awake, director," Tony gasped in delight, a stupid grin spreading across his face. "She seems a little disoriented, but that officer – "

"Simon," Jenny interrupted him.

"Yeah, him – he says that the doctor says it's not uncommon and it should wear off shortly – "

"So we can bring her back home, then," Gibbs said, as more of a statement than a question.

"That officer – "

"Simon."

"Yeah, him – he says that the doctor said something about observation but I guess that's just standard safety regs in a hospital, right?"

"I want a bird leaving the airport in 25 hours," Gibbs told Jenny bluntly. "Now, I'm going to go see my agent." With that, he pushed past Jenny and entered the hospital room. "So, Officer David, you ever do that again and I will boot your insubordinate butt back to Tel Aviv myself."

Ziva looked at him in confusion. Then she cast an uneasy glance back at Simon, who said something quietly to her and stood up to face Gibbs. "Agent Gibbs, come with me a moment. Out in the hallway, please."

"What's going on?" Gibbs demanded of the young officer, the rest of the NCIS team quickly joining them.

"The doctors are not certain how it happened," Simon said quietly. "There were any number of factors which could have contributed to it…"

"Simon, the point," Jenny said.

"Ziva does not remember you," Simon said. "Any of you. She does not remember going to America, she does not remember working as _metsada_ and she does not remember any of her years at Mossad or in IDF. As far as Ziva knows, we are still in middle school. Her memory ends at 11. She has lost her English. She has lost all the languages we learned in school."

~*~

Myriam, Motel and Malachi arrived not long after Ziva's awakening. "Simon, how is she?" Myriam asked desperately, casting a worried glance towards the Americans huddled together down the hall.

Simon sighed, his eyes closed. "She has amnesia."

"How badly?" Myriam asked warily.

Simon paused, obviously trying to regain control over his emotions. "Caterina has just been killed. That's the last thing she remembers."

"Oh, my God…" Malachi groaned. "So she remembers nothing."

"That's right," Simon confirmed.

"Rafi, Kemuel, Tali, Ari…"

"All still alive."

"The Americans?" Myriam asked as she began to head for the door of Ziva's hospital room.

"She doesn't have a clue. She doesn't even remember any of the languages we learned. She remembers her Hebrew, her Arabic and her Yiddish."

"Has anybody told her?" Motel asked softly. When Simon shook his head, Myriam said stiffly,

"Good. It's her stupid Americans that got her here in the first place." With that, she entered the room with a smile on her face, greeting Ziva happily.

"Is it just me," Motel said to the other two men, "or does Myriam have a bit of a grudge against the Americans?"

"Good observation, Motel," Simon said with a roll of his eyes. "I have a feeling she's a little suspicious of them after what happened with Ari. She thinks they might've lured Ziva into a sting to revenge that agent."

"Ziva's been there for three years now. Little long for a sting," Malachi pointed out. "And trust me, that Agent DiNozzo down there? _Definitely_ not interested in killing her. Jenny Shepard ought to know better than to think they could deceive Ziva like that – that's the American she worked those East Europe ops with. That Agent McGee? I'd be more wary of Motel than I would be of him. That Agent Gibbs would be the one to look out for."

~*~

"She's still alive, somehow?" Deputy Director David asked sharply as he strode into the hospital.

"Yes, sir," Motel replied quickly, scrambling to keep pace with his boss. "The doctors say that she has amnesia. She doesn't recall any of her years in Mossad." The director slowed, and in relief, Motel lessened his pace. "Should I file those visa renewals, sir?"

"No," David replied. "There's no use. She won't be of any good to either agency. Place Officer David on medical leave, release her to the custody of one of the other officers until such time as the doctors declare her fit to return to full-time duty."

"So who's going back as liaison?" Motel asked. "NCIS will be expecting Ziva to return to Washington with them tomorrow."

"I will speak to Director Shepard. Send Officer Meir to Washington. Make his contract term five years."

"That… seems a bit excessive, sir, for a disciplinary… five-year term, Officer Meir, right away," Motel caved in at David's dangerous glare, disappearing down the hall again.

David entered the hospital room to find Ziva and Myriam talking easily to one another. "Officer Rogel, do you not have something to do?" he asked pointedly; Myriam nodded quietly, said goodbye to Ziva and then left. "Ziva."

"Father," Ziva replied, a hesitant pause before the word.

"The doctors informed me that your memories of the last few years have gone, and there's a chance that they may never return," he said stiffly. "I'm sure that even with those memories gone, you can appreciate how dangerous it would be for you to leave this place without protection."

Ziva's eyes betrayed her confusion, though her facial expression didn't move in the slightest. "What are you trying to tell me, Father?" she asked softly.

~*~

"No, no, don't tell me you're going to take that kind of crap, director!" Tony burst out as Malachi stood silently at the foot of the plane steps.

"Tony, I can't do anything more," Jenny sighed.

"Listen, Agent DiNozzo, I am not particularly pleased with this assignment either," Malachi said quietly as he mounted into the plane. "I have a wife and child I am leaving for the next five years because of what I did for Ziva."

"Screw you, Meir, I really don't care right now," Tony snarled, starting to head for the plane door again.

"Agent DiNozzo!" Jenny said sharply, just as the pilots closed the doors. "Sit down and shut up before I write you up!"

Glowering at the director, Tony took his seat as far away from the group as possible, his face dark as he slouched down without further words. His hand buried itself into his jacket pocket, where he had Ziva's necklace still lying in the palm of his hand, waiting for the twilight reunion that would never happen. Tracing his thumb over the pointed edges of the star and the rippled texture of the diamonds, he tried not to let his dismay show too much. As far as everybody in this plane was concerned, Ziva had been his partner. Just his partner and nothing more, when in reality she had been so much more…

~*~

Ziva tossed and turned at night, released into Simon's custody and sleeping on his bed while he took the couch. She couldn't believe that so much time had passed without her remembering a single thing, that they were grown up, some of them married, with kids, with jobs and real lives. And yet something kept nagging. Something that told her that the stories that her friends had told her were incomplete, that there were things missing, important things…

They had told her that Tali and David had died on graduation night, killed in a Hamas bombing. They had told her that Rafi, Kemuel, Zion, Yael had all been died in the line of duty. They had told her that she and Rafi had married their final year at Beth Shalom, even if he'd been killed by Hamas before the end of that same year. They had told her that she was Komemuite, assigned to duties as a _metsada_ after Rafi's death. And yet everybody seemed to skirt around the topic of where she'd been, what she'd been doing the day she had lost her memory. Nobody seemed to want to delve deeper in what her _life_ had been like: the part which didn't concern Mossad. Or _was_ Mossad her life – was she just one of the officers who had nothing except her duties to occupy her time?

Finally, Ziva sighed and sat up. Swinging herself out of bed, she headed out into the hallway of Simon's apartment cautiously, trying not to wake him. It was all for naught, apparently, since a note lying on the kitchen counter said that he had been called in on an emergency at Mossad and would call late morning to check on her if he wasn't done by then.

Turning on the lights, now not worried about waking anybody, Ziva went rifling through the albums piled beneath Simon's coffee table, searching for something – _anything_ – that would help her remember. She had this terrible, horrible feeling that somebody was waiting for her, somebody she wanted very much to get back to…

Finally, Ziva had to give up. Hopefully it would come to her soon.

~*~

"Do you think it was dishonest of us?" Chaim asked softly. "Not to tell Ziva about the Americans?"

"Dishonest, absolutely," Myriam answered shortly. "Wrong? No. She's better off not knowing."

"Myriam, you are so immoral," Leib said with a shake of his head.

"I'm Komemuite. We're not exactly known for our outstanding moral fibre."

Zelig hesitated, thinking hard, before he said, "But it will come back to her one day. She will remember them one day, and she's going to remember being there, and she's going to remember – "

"As far as I'm concerned, whoever the hell her lover was in America had it coming for even starting a relationship in the first place," Myriam said stubbornly. "Knowing that she was Mossad, knowing that her assignment was temporary, possibly even knowing the kind of work she does in Mossad… he had it coming."

"Myriam, don't talk about what you don't know," Zelig replied shortly.

"This is what I _do_ know – " Myriam burst out. "I know that my best friend's brother, her charge, was shot to death by NCIS, I know that they were having her tailed because they didn't trust her, and then barely a month later, they begging for her to go _work_ with them? It reeks of conspiracy, Zelig, things like that don't just happen!"

"God, Myriam, did you ever think that maybe Ziva _wanted_ to go?" Zelig demanded.

"The day she left three years ago, Zelig, she told me that she wished she didn't have to go!"

"Then you either weren't listening or you don't have the whole story, Myriam, because Ziva was perfectly happy to stay in Washington," Simon said quietly as he joined the group in the bar. "You didn't listen to her teleconferences with the deputy director every year at assignment time. She was practically begging on hands and knees to have it extended for another year. And we all know how easily Ziva takes to begging."

~*~

Ziva pulled on her jacket, grabbing Simon's spare key from the countertop. Maybe a walk through the streets would clear her mind and bring back what she desperately needed to know.

She kept hearing the sounds of a man's voice, speaking in a low, unfamiliar language. She would get quick flashes of an apartment, of listening to cars and horns outside the window with a warm arm wrapped around her waist and soft, warm breaths against the skin of her neck. And somehow she knew: this was who she was looking for.


	9. The Man Without a Face

**Chapter 8: The Man without a Face**

**A/N:** Just to let you know, I'm taking snippets of Season 6 to integrate into this chapter.

_

* * *

_

Two months later:

Ziva sighed as she brushed out her hair again. Though her memories had started to come back very recently, the last few years remained a mystery to her. Sometimes she would remember the sensation of somebody's strong, muscled arms wrapping around her – it must've been Rafi, she couldn't imagine having let any other man make her feel like that.

But other times she was convinced it wasn't Rafi. After all, she and Rafi had been well known for their explosive arguments, their marital disputes turned physical and their constant silent treatment. It just wasn't like Rafi to wrap his arms around her and breathe soft, caressing words into her ear. But this other man didn't have a face. Who was he, and where was he? Did he worry about her every day, wonder where she was? Did he sleep alone in a cold, large bed, aching for the warmth of her body next to his just as she ached for him?

Because she did – even if she didn't know who he was, she knew that she missed him, knew that she craved him like an addict craves his hit.

*~*~*

Tony sighed as he closed his eyes again, laying his head back down on the pillow in hopes that maybe this time, when he opened his eyes, she would be there.

But then he would open them once more, and the space beside him on the bed would still be empty. Her pillow would remain undented, her blankets undisturbed. His arms were still empty, and the warmth and the solidity of her body curved into his were still absent.

It was only just a matter of time. It had to be. Once she remembered, Mossad would send her back and take back Malachi. He was an all right guy, Tony had nothing against him, but Ziva was definitely more attuned to the life and processes of an investigator. She had to come back. She just had to.

Malachi wasn't as quick a learner as Ziva had been when it came to crime scene investigation. Four months into his new position, and they were still coaching him along in the more mundane and complicated aspects of investigative life. How was it possible that his job was way closer in nature to investigation than Ziva's had been, and yet he didn't seem to know what to do?

Abby was virtually hostile to Malachi, much like she had been to Ziva when she had first started, but unlike with Ziva, her hostility hadn't lessened with time. If anything, it had intensified the longer Ziva was gone.

They were trying their hardest to adapt to this new member, but nobody – least of all Tony – was having an easy go of it. And Tony still would pick up the phone and begin dialing her apartment number at 2 AM, thinking that he would warn her that he was coming over, when he would realize that the new tenants wouldn't appreciate that call. The first ten times he'd actually connected, at least, they hadn't.

It was worse than losing Jeanne all over again. Because this time, it hadn't been a mission. It hadn't had anything to do with NCIS. This was Ziva, pure and simple. He had thought he'd experienced love with Jeanne – until he'd actually held Ziva without federal agents watching them. That slightly drunken feeling he got every time he caught a glimpse of her walking through a door, or taking off her jacket, or gearing up for a crime scene, or waiting for him to take her into his arms.

She would lie back under the covers with him, dragging her fingertips lightly through the hair on his chest as they would talk. He had heard stories that made him truly understand why she'd said, that day so long ago,_ "You and I come from two different worlds, Tony. In my world, you grow up, and you grow up fast."_

He knew everything about her. Even the things she had said that she had sworn never to reveal. It was no wonder that she and Gibbs got along so well – they were more alike than maybe Gibbs even knew.

_

* * *

_

Ten months later:

"Watch her like a hawk," the deputy director said quietly to the other agents. "The first hint that she's not capable of completing it, you remove her."

"Yes, deputy director," both Myriam and Zelig said quietly.

"I am putting you on this mission, because you know Ziva well. You know those hints. Do not fail me."

"Yes, deputy director."

*~*~*

"You'd think he doesn't trust me anymore," Ziva fumed as the three officers were on the plane headed for Washington, D.C., on the trail of their assigned hit.

"He doesn't," Zelig said calmly, still reading his newspaper.

"Thanks, Zelig, that makes me feel so much better," Ziva replied scathingly.

"Come on, let's give your father the benefit of the doubt," Myriam offered. "He just wants to make sure you're back up to full ability. Besides, this is a high value target. The more of us there is, the better chance we have of getting him."

"I'll believe that when I see it," her friend grumbled in response. "So are we warning the operatives in America that we're here?"

"Michael knows we're coming," Zelig replied. "I called Malachi and warned him just in case."

"So we're not going to be a total surprise to the Israelis abroad," Myriam said in satisfaction. "Good. I didn't really want another Buenos Aires under my belt. Zelig, Ziva, come on, we have to build our personas."

*~*~*

Tony sighed as he took out his files, looking out the window at the sunshine outside. Another perfect day to sit inside and be miserable. But at least he'd have company, he thought to himself as he watched Malachi (or the Invader-of-Ziva's-Desk, as Abby grouchily referred to him as) talking on the phone in Hebrew – by the tone in his voice, he was probably talking to his kid. Malachi looked nearly as miserable as him.

Malachi looked over at him, bade his farewells, and said quietly as he hung up, "It was my daughter's third birthday today. She wanted to say thank you for her present."

McGee entered without a word spoken just then, closely followed by Gibbs, who barked, "Gear up. We're heading to Georgetown."

"For what, boss?" Tony asked.

"A dead sailor, DiNozzo, what else?"

*~*~*

NCIS was already on the scene when Myriam, Zelig and Ziva arrived at the café to meet up with their target.

"Wonder what's going on here?" Zelig asked softly, as Myriam and Ziva both scanned the crowds, searching for their target.

"Looks like a shoot-out of some kind," Ziva murmured, her eyes drifting across the dark jackets milling around the bodies, _NCIS_ imprinted on the backs…

_______

"_Okay, relax, quick-draw. We're feds," her companion said slowly as he turned around in the chair._

"_Oh yeah?" the pudgy young security guard said, a slight degree of panic in his voice. "What agency?"_

"_NCIS," she said, cutting off her companion's reply._

"_Never heard of it," the security guard replied frantically._

"_Naval Criminal Investigative Service," she sighed._

"_Never heard of it," the guard repeated._

_Her companion turned to her. "You never get used to it. You think you will, but you never do."_

_________

"One of the victims must be military, if they've called NCIS out here," Myriam commented, touching Ziva's arm lightly. "Ziva, you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ziva replied. She gestured towards the bullet-ridden body lying in a corner. "Look, there's our target there. Looks like he decided to arrive early."

"Well, somebody's done all the gory stuff for us, then," Myriam said in satisfaction. "Guess we're going back to Tel Aviv." She paused as Malachi spotted them, standing up from his crouched position and coming over. "Malachi, what's going on?"

"I should ask you guys the same thing," Malachi said darkly. "Did you forget the lesson on not killing innocent bystanders?"

"Malachi, what are you talking about?" Zelig asked in confusion. "We just got here."

"Five people dead, three of them American naval officers. I'm assuming one of the civilians was your target. All of them shot by a sniper with Sierra .6 hollow point," Malachi told them, a slight tremble in his voice.

"Meir!" came a sharp call came from behind him. "Stop socializing and get to work!" The owner of the voice showed up within seconds. "What are you doing here?" he asked the three officers sharply.

"I'm sorry, that information is classified," Myriam spoke up.

Ziva watched the icy blue eyes of the American standing in front of her.

_______

"_So tell me, Officer David, whose balls get cut off if Haswari isn't a mole but a traitor?"_

_Ziva looked up into the icy blue eyes of the American agent. "Mine, I suppose," she replied coolly. "Since I'm his control officer."_

"_Hmm. They promote control officers young in Mossad."_

"_Have to," she replied cheekily. "The good ones are dead at your age."_

_________

She could hear Myriam swearing under her breath as the American turned to look at her.

"It's good to see you again, Ziva."


End file.
